Boot camp. Trial run.

Alex's words sharp as spoons set on flickr

Sometimes the slightest differences end up being the biggest ones. Like a Japanese sign that reads Tit bit instead of Tid bit. Or the difference between “Boot camp. Trail Run,” (as in wood chips, outdoors, mountain, running, sweating), and the actual title of this post. “Boot camp. Trial Run,” meaning not quite there.

But there we were. Early. Sitting in the car at the Kits beach parking lot at 5:45 in the morning. On Cornwall. Near the tennis courts. Exactly where the man from Freedom Fitness told us to meet. It’s still pitch black out, not to mention raining. And not sprinkling either. I mean really heavy, wet everywhere, number-8-out-of-10-on-the-miserable-day-scale raining. But neither of us are grumpy. We’re sitting in the car, quite proud of ourselves really, with our new water bottles, mats, five pound weights and general new lease on life. Headlights approach in the parking lot, and we watch people get right out of their cars with their own mats and water bottles. So we say to each other, what are we waiting for, and leave behind our heated seats with nothing less than gusto.

Then, things get a bit awkward. As far as we’re concerned, this should be like the first day of school. Small chat. Introductions. Opening speeches. But when we get to the under cover area, everyone’s all set up with their mats unrolled in neat lines. People are stretching with purpose not confusion. A woman in army pants approaches.

Army lady: Ummmmm, are you new?

Ash: Yes.

Army Lady: What’s your name?

Ash: Ash.

Jen: Jen.

Army Lady: OK, Ash and Jen. Did you sign up on line?

Ash: No, we talked to Anthony. He told us to bring cash.

Jen: Yeah, Anthony. (I point to a large man also wearing various army apparel)

Army lady: That’s not Anthony.

Jen:Is this Freedom Fitness?

Army lady: No. It’s Cardio Boot Camp. Ok eveyone, let’s move our mats over to the area over there.

At this point, she leaves us standing there, by ourselves, at 6:00 in the morning, all geared up. We’re not looking at each other. We’re looking up and down the dark path back to the parking lot. No more people. I can see the other group starting to do warm-up exercises through the glass walls of the concession. Come to think of it, I feel a bit like a wiener myself. Maybe because it’s the middle of the night, torrential, and here I am at Kits beach in shorts. I start to grapevine with the group we don’t belong to.

Hey, they can’t stop us from being here and moving our body any way we want to, I say to Ash. He is looking very dejected. There’s nothing left to do but go to Starbucks. The guy who takes our order tells us about the big Starbucks-wide mix up with store orders. So, I tell him about our failed attempt to change our lives through boot camp. He says it must be fate and gives us free coffees. Americano mistos. Non fat.

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